The White Rose
by je t'aime tellement
Summary: Imagine that the imposter prince was actually, Richard IV, what would Elizabeth of York do? Would the Tudor Dynasty still exist? One of her children might still sit on a throne but would it be as a York or a Tudor? Set just after Elizabeth Woodville dies, just what would Elizabeth do for her children and their future?


AN: This is an AU, of course, as history has the House of Tudor winning both the War of Roses and giving England two of it's most famous monarchs in King Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth. This does not mean that we would not expect to see a king or queen wear the crown after their Uncle. Some inspiration has come from Phillipa Gregory's books on the Cousins War, the shows on the Tudors and the Plantagenets, and history.

* * *

June 8, 1492 - Bermondsey Abbey

Elizabeth Woodville, beloved wife and Queen of the late Edward IV and now Dowager Queen, was dying. She had lived her life fighting for her family, for her children, for her power, for her right to rule but the fight was gone. And here on her deathbed, she had one last secret to divulge. A secret she knew that would cause her daughter, Elizabeth, Queen of England and wife of Henry Tudor, much turmoil—but would relieve her of a burden that she carried with her this day.

She summoned her daughter early in the day; she summoned her the minute she was sure that it was time. Elizabeth knew that her daughter had formed an understanding with her once despised Tudor husband. Elizabeth considered her daughter the only heir to the throne, absent her brothers, her son-in-law's claim was tenuous at best and at worst, it was illegitimate. Her daughter, the oldest daughter of the true and dearly beloved Edward IV, was the only one with a true claim to the throne—until her daughter found the truth from her lips.

Elizabeth Woodville was not a woman to count on others doing the right thing. She survived on her ambition and her intelligence—and as her enemies might say her beauty or witchcraft. It was her beauty which caused Edward to fall madly in love with her and marry a penniless widow from the losing side of the War of the Roses, but others would claim it was witchcraft that kept him enamored to raise her family above all others. She became the greatest Yorkist to ever exist, she fought and bleed for the house but some remembered still she had been married first to a man of the House of Lancaster and her own mother had served Margaret of Anjou. But Elizabeth Woodville gave the House of York seven daughters and three sons. And she gave the House of York, it's true and legitimate king, Richard, her son, the Duke of York.

Even as she looked at her daughter for the last time, she was struck by how beautiful she was and how much she favored their family. Elizabeth of York had inherited the best features of her father and her mother. She was the fairest of her children and one with the most to lose. She was a mother of two sons and a daughter, and she was pregnant once more. Elizabeth Woodville beaconed to her daughter and Elizabeth of York's eyes was misty as she leaned forward, so close Elizabeth Woodville could feel her fine blond hair fall like a curtain around the two of them. Her blue eyes looked into her mother's and in that moment, Elizabeth of York knew. The pit in her stomach had grown and she let a few tears fall from her eye.

"He survived, didn't he?" Her voice so soft, she was nervous that one would overhear. "Richard—he's alive, isn't he? Tell me, mother, did my aunt, did she send word at last?" Her voice was fragile but grew stronger with each breathless word. It was so unbelievable that she knew not if she dared believe it. Did she believe that her brother, the true heir to the throne survived and was alive and well in Burgundy with her aunt? It seemed impossible but there was something in her mother's face that told her so. She had not thought about him for many years, after they never received word, she feared the worst.

"My daughter, my love, my Lizzie, you know as I do. The House of York still has the one heir left and he will return, Lizzie." Her daughter looked stricken but Elizabeth Woodville continued. "It tis his right, his birthright. Stolen from him first by your Uncle Richard and then denied by your Tudor husband's family." She seized her daughter's hand as Elizabeth moved closer still, her other hand holding her stomach. "I know that she killed them, I lied to her, I sent a servant boy and our boy away." This history her mother imparted was not unfamiliar, she knew of the plan but confirmation filled her stomach with dread. Her could only mean one woman—Elizabeth's despised mother-in-law, Margaret Beaufort. "She is never to be trusted."

Elizabeth had no love for her husband. She tolerated him as best as she was able and after four children, she could state that perhaps she had a certain fondness for him but she was a York Princess at heart. She had married beneath her and despised her mother-in-law. Though Henry Tudor was enamored with his wife, but he trusted her little and her mother even less. For good reason, Elizabeth knew her mother was plotting but she was never certain for who she plotted, did she plot for Elizabeth's own claim or for another. And finally, Elizabeth had her answer.

"I know not what to do," Elizabeth said at last. She thought of her boys, her Arthur and her Henry, both were more Tudor in their looks than York. And she feared for their lives, she knew the cost of the War of Roses and she loved her children. Could she deny her brother his right for her sons? Should she have had the strength to claim the throne for herself? She was a York Princess but a Tudor Queen. Many thoughts raced through her head as she looked at her mother. "Will he come?" Her voice was urgent. "I must know, mother. Need I fear for my boys' lives? Shall I take sanctuary like we once did when you were pregnant with Edward?" She could hear Margaret Beaufort's smug voice as she told her, "I'm glad we can be friends" after she had Arthur. She imagined her brother storming sanctuary to tear her and her children from the rooms. She imagined blood spilling, her sons turned into the Tower Princes, like their uncles.

Her conflict was written on her face. "I cannot tell you what to do, Elizabeth. You are a Queen in your own right, and should Richard have died, you ought to be Queen. It was your birthright, he rules through your blood and claim. Your claim was always stronger than his." Even death could not prevent the disdain for the Tudor man who married her favorite daughter from coloring her tone. "Think, my girl. Think and be decisive. But trust no one." Her words were ominous and the Queen Dowager could feel her strength seeping from her bones.

"He is your brother. He's the rightful king and Margaret would have him killed. She would have killed him should he have been in the Tower." She knew what Elizabeth would do, for she knew Elizabeth better than Elizabeth knew herself. Elizabeth was a survivor. "When you see him, tell him that I loved him." Elizabeth nodded. She kissed her mother's forehead.

"I love you mother." Her tears flowed so freely she was unable to stop them. She held her mother's hand as her mother breathed her last. And kneeling at her bedside, Elizabeth cried for her mother, for herself, for her sons and for her brother. And she knew what she must do. Elizabeth of York, the firstborn of the late King Edward IV and Queen Elizabeth Woodville, steeled her spine and swept from the room with an hauteur that would make her mother proud.

* * *

September 1492 - Burgundy

They made a striking couple as they walked the hallways. Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, formerly Margaret of York, strolled the hallways with a boy that bore a striking resemblance to Edward IV. He called to mind his parents. His Aunt flanked him, his arm through her's as she led him with the easy grace that came from the daughter of royalty and the sister of a King. She was still lovely with her dark hair and elegant dress. She favored darker colors these days, since the passage of her beloved step-daughter but her burgundy dress looked dramatic trimmed in black and adorned with gold. He was tall and just leaving youth, fair-haired and graceful. His eyes and coloring were like Elizabeth Woodville and those who had been to England's Court whispered about how he favored the late Queen.

"I have in my possession a letter, my dear nephew." Her ringed fingers lightly resting on his arm, as she looked up at her nephew, the only remaining son of her brothers. He was everything a York Prince should be and she knew he was a credit to her brother and sister-in-law. She smiled at a courtier that passed as he inclined his head. She knew she had her nephew's full attention.

"From whom, my lady Aunt?" He enquired, sounding more and more like her beloved brother each day. Even her mother, the Duchess Cecily, could not deny that though he may favor Elizabeth, he was Edward's through and through. They found it in his voice and his smile, his laugh and his charm. He was a charming boy, not quite man. Cecily spent hours with the boy, teaching him how to hold the country in this palm of his hand, how to win over the common folk who adored his parents. Cecily was devoted with a single-mindedness that Margaret did not believe her mother possessed. All Duchess Cecily would say was that should Margaret Beaufort be disposed of then the world might be a happier place.

"From your sister, Elizabeth." Richard drew back surprised, his shoulders squaring before he tried to rearrange his features to a more neutral look. Margaret had been surprised herself when she received the note, delivered in secret by one of Elizabeth Woodville's servants. She had heard of her sister-in-law's death and though she mourned her, she knew that God had delivered Richard to her safely for a reason. In Margaret's mind, it was only a pity Elizabeth would not live long enough to see her child rightly restored to his throne.

"Elizabeth? Lizzie? She writes to me?" Richard's disbelief was obvious. Though his Grandmother and Aunt accepted that he was Richard of York, he was aware that the Tudors pretended he did not exist. Pretended that his claim was as illegitimate as he was and he was an imposter. He knew that Elizabeth must have undertaken quite a risk to send word to their Aunt, who was known to support him. No doubt if she had been found out she would be in seclusion at some remote abbey like their late mother had been.

"She writes for a meeting, somewhere close where she might be able to escape for a few hours." Elizabeth had written more than that, she wrote that she had given birth to a daughter, called Elizabeth as well. She wrote of her children and she wrote that she needed to speak to her Aunt and Grandmother immediately. What was not written was her desire to see her brother, but Margaret could read what Elizabeth had left off. And she signed it Elizabeth Plantagenet, not Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. It was a good omen, it boded well for her brother and their cause but she knew that it could simply be grief.

"I must see her, Aunt. It has been years since I saw her last, I feared for her." Richard loved his sister, she was seven years his senior and she had been his favorite sister in their youth. He pleaded, "Might I accompany you?"

"No, Richard. I must meet her alone." Margaret knew that despite Elizabeth's implied loyalty, she had half Tudor children and two sons who would lose their right to a throne should Richard prevail. "I will inform you after the meeting." She cautioned. "Elizabeth is married now—a Tudor by marriage, she has sons of her own. Sons who have a claim to the throne, she might be reluctant to give up their place in the line of succession to a presumably dead brother."

"Elizabeth would know I would never hurt my nephew or nieces." He insisted stubbornly. "But it tis my birthright and that Tudor bastard and his mother have stolen it from me." His voice rising, "He made my sister, a Princess in her own right with better bloodline, marry him. He so beneath her, she ought to have been Queen of France or another country, not the wife who gives him his only claim to legitimacy." He hissed outraged, "His mother plied our's with false hope and information, she killed our brother and she would have killed me to ensure her son's claim." His Aunt pushed harder on his arm, reminding him to regain his composure. He had his parents' passion as well. "Elizabeth knows the truth and I will reclaim my father's throne. I will do it for the House of York and my sister will not turn against me. She's a Princess from the House of York."

"Be that as it may, I will speak with Elizabeth first to be sure." His Aunt's tone brooked no room for debate. Richard had no thoughts about how the Tudors might have poisoned his sister and turned her from their cause but his Aunt knew that the love of a mother transcended all boundaries. Elizabeth was a York and a York had pride to spare, Edward IV's was legendary and Elizabeth Woodville was certainly not lacking. Her spies informed her that though Henry Tudor was enamored with his wife, his wife was less than thrilled with his attention. Elizabeth also enjoyed an adversarial relationship with her mother-in-law, who ruled her son and England with an iron fist. These counted in their favor but who knew if Elizabeth would see the justness in their cause.

He seethed on the inside. He could not stand the thought of his beloved sister kept by her husband, who did not deserve her. Richard longed to see her. He knew that Elizabeth was loyal despite the years they had spent apart. He forced his face to remain blank as his Aunt explained her plan, he would not seek his Aunt's approval but he would be present and see Elizabeth again. His sister would understand once she saw him and she would support his claim. He would reassure her and he had no reason to fear his nephews.

* * *

October 1492 - London, England

Her husband was to go north with his mother on a tour of the border, near Scotland. He was requesting to meet with the King of the Scots. He would have sold their daughter in marriage to him if he was interested but the King like many monarchs seemed to believe the imposter's claim. Henry was taking his mother and his uncle, plus most of his courtiers. Elizabeth considered it quite the stroke of luck. She had demurred when he turned his puppy-like eyes towards her, she claimed she wished to stay with the children—Elizabeth was so young and delicate. He agreed straight away. And so Elizabeth stayed—with no chaperone to watch her every move.

He must have thought that four children were enough to bind her to him. He thought that she would favor the Tudor cause for her children's sake. But Henry was a fool of the highest order. He loved her and was unable to recognize that she did not feel the same as he. She smiled prettily enough when he showered her with something to show his favor and affection. But her smile was a mask. He was a constant reminder of how she had lost—of what she had lost. Henry would never understand how she felt when her Uncle branded her as illegitimate to steal her brother's throne. How he could he understand the despair she felt when she learned of her brothers' deaths. He could never how she felt when she was married to him to secure his own claim to the throne—how she felt to be a pawn in this game of kings. How her superior birthright and claim superseded him and only appeased the York lords enough not to court outright rebellion when a Lancaster Tudor claimed a throne which he had no legal right to. He ought to be grateful her mother had agreed to wed her daughter to him, but he would never be.

Because Henry was not born a royal. He was born the son of Margaret Beaufort, whose claim came through her great-grandparents' illegitimate union—legitimized well after the fact with only one provision that their decedents were barred from the throne. So Henry could complain about his exile as he often did but he would never know what it was like to lose it all, the way she had. Henry was not a survivor, but in her mind, a lucky boy whose mother removed from the game until he was sure to win, until there were no more players. Elizabeth had grown up on the field and learned to play the game from the start, she would not lose to an upstart and his overbearing mother.

But she bade him farewell and gave him her prettiest smile as she waved him off, her children with her. Her Elizabeth in her arms while the little ones stood next to her as they waved their papa away. They were too young to understand what was happening around them and she counted it lucky that Margaret Beaufort did not stay behind. Margaret Beaufort had been giving her a wide berth after hearing of her mother's passing. A formidable lady but not beautiful, she wore her ambition nakedly on her face and she was ashamed to admit that it was the power—the throne which she had coveted most of all. Her eyes were beady from narrowing at everything and everyone, always observing her daughter-in-law and Elizabeth's relatives with a certain degree of suspiciousness. It was said she had spies all over her son's Court and Elizabeth was not surprised. She ruled her son, why should she not also rule his Court.

But Elizabeth was a York, a Princess while he was still exiled, like the foreigner he was often called. She had learned deception at her father's Court, tutored by her mother and grandmother. She had her own ambitions but she covered them well, a girl who had once been promised to be the Dauphine of France and later, some even claimed the rightful Queen of England, was a woman who knew the art of deception and the lengths she must go through—the disguises one must wear. She had in her linens drawer, a letter from her Aunt. Her Aunt would be in London during her husband's journey, disguised of course without her Grandmother but armed with protectors. They were coming to draw support for their Yorkist Prince, for the York King.

Elizabeth knew that her Aunt would be successful. Henry was not popular. He could never hope to be. He was not handsome or gallant or charming. He favored his mother too much—his thinness of face and his eyes too small. When they rode out into the crowds and waved to the people, the cries were always much stronger for her—not that anyone would dare admit. She had seen firsthand how the people had responded to her handsome parents and their bevy of beautiful children, she knew the value of charm and how to be charming—something no Tudor knew or practiced. The Yorkist Lords would not oppose a king who was born of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. They might even have once brought claims for her, had Henry Tudor not brokered an agreement to restore Elizabeth's parents' marriage and promised to marry her—the only person with a true tangible claim to the throne.

Elizabeth bade her children good day as she sent them on their way, back to the nursery and summoned her cousin, Margaret de la Pole. Margaret was born of her father's brother, George, Duke of Clarance. Her brother, Edward or Teddy as he was called, had been locked up since Henry's triumphant win. Dismissing her ladies, she claimed that she simply wished Margaret to read to her as she still felt fatigued from Elizabeth's birth and her mother's death. Elizabeth knew that her own show of weakness would be reported to her mother-in-law, thus cementing the image that Elizabeth was weak and placid in Margaret Beaufort's mind.

Margaret had begun to read the Bible when Elizabeth stopped her once she was sure her ladies had all left. Lifting a single finger to her lips, she reached into her embroidery basket, retrieving a letter. She pressed it into her cousin's hands. Margaret turned her wide eyes onto her cousin's face. Margaret recognized the handwriting. Trembling, Margaret opened the letter as Elizabeth took up reading the Bible. Their voices were similar enough that a passerby would not recognize that Margaret was not the one reading.

"Do you believe her? Is it wise, Elizabeth, to engage in such treacherous and dangerous activities?" Margaret's soft voice was hushed as she barely dared to speak above a whisper. Passed the Bible, Margaret's eyes immediately fell to the pages while she read where her cousin left off.

"My mother swore so on her deathbed," Elizabeth replied, her tone a touch cool to Margaret's ear. Elizabeth Woodville had favored Elizabeth and fought for her—put her on the throne beside the upstart. And despite Elizabeth's deep affection for her mother, that did not mean that the daughter had forgiven her mother for marrying her to Henry, even if she gained a throne. Mother and daughter shared a complicated yet loving relationship—a legacy left by the War of the Roses. Elizabeth knew as Margaret did not about Elizabeth Woodville's plan to save at least one of her sons. But there had been no true word since before Elizabeth married Henry Tudor. "I intend to speak with Aunt."

"What shall happen to you should it be true?" Margaret asked as she passed the book back to her cousin who carried on reading as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Margaret thought of her own brother, locked away in the Tower, growing more and more ill. She thought of him, poor Teddy, so stunted by his time locked away for his own safety as Henry Tudor and his mother proclaimed. Margaret knew better, she knew they feared for him—even though he was not developed as he should be. But he was York and he was beloved, thus he was a threat to the unpopular reign of their king.

"I will do what is in my children's best interests." Her voice was haughty, regal even as she leaned forward, pressing Margaret to read more. "Henry has no right to it—if it is my brother." Treasonous words made even worse as they were spoken from the Queen's own lips. Elizabeth of York was nothing if not her mother's daughter. "He would not harm them and they are young still—they can be taught."

"Elizabeth, do you openly court war?" Margaret's dark eyes found Elizabeth's blue ones. She was as fair as Margaret was dark. But their features were similar, the York features ran prominently through their faces. And the two together was a constant reminder that their claims were still far superior to the usurper who held the crown in his miserly fist.

"I court nothing." Her voice was smooth as she fingered a ring Margaret had not seen her wear since she was a child. It was a York ring, given by their grandmother when they were children. Margaret hid hers where no one would ever think to look—it was the same place where she hid Teddy's birthright. "The truth will decide what God already has." And Margaret knew at that moment, Elizabeth would back her brother's claim to the throne.

"You are a fool, Lizzie," Margaret replied in disbelief. It was utter madness, what reason did Elizabeth have to back her brother over her own children. Elizabeth was the picture of composure, reading on, her eyes barely flickering to Margaret before they returned to the page. "It will be madness. What of Arthur's birthright?" She could not believe that Elizabeth would favor her brother over her son. Margaret loved the beautiful six-year-old Prince who was thoughtful and intelligent, much more York than Tudor in manner.

"Think of your brother," came the reply as Elizabeth paused for a fraction before continuing. She reached down and handed Margaret another piece of paper. Margaret read it silently, it was a note from Lizzie requesting Margaret come with her. It was not an edict, but there was implication around it. Elizabeth expected Margaret to come with her. Margaret nodded before tossing the letter into the fire. She started to speak before she was stopped.

"Patience, cousin." Elizabeth stood as she swept her blue dress behind her. Elizabeth favored blue and white and gold, it complimented her looks and called back memories of her father and mother. Margaret could remember her Aunt and Uncle wearing those colors, dancing or simply walking together. "I think I shall visit the nursery, join me. The children adore you." Elizabeth carelessly pushed her loose curls back as Margaret stood as well. Margaret reached for Elizabeth's hair, pulling it back, fastening it with a hood, before Elizabeth did the same for her. Her eyes revealed nothing but a serenity that Margaret wished she possessed herself. Elizabeth twisted her ring once more before proclaiming, "The battle has yet to be fought." And in that moment, Elizabeth's eyes were ice.


End file.
